The Playboy and The Secretary
by Astarii Amaranth
Summary: [TP,AU] Trunks Briefs, heir to Capsule Corps, is a playboy. In a desperate attempt to get his chaotic life in order, his mother hires him a personal secretary. Her name is Pan Son.
1. Intro

"What?" Trunks' voice nearly cracked with that question. His mother merely folded her arms and looked him square in the eye.

"I've interviewed tons of applicants," she continued, "and think I've found the perfect one. She'll organize the chaos that is your life and take a load off of my shoulders—yours too if you'll let her." She seemed to add the last bit with a dose of sarcasm.

"I don't need a personal secretary." Trunks responded flatly, trying to continue his work with cool indifference.

"Too late, I've hired you."

"Then you can release her—"

"Trunks!"

"Or you can hire her for yourself." He met his mother's stare for several moments before he had to look away. He knew she'd win this argument, but he didn't dare admit it to himself yet.

"She's here, so straighten your shirt and jacket."

"Mom!"

"What?" She snapped. He gulped and straightened his shirt. "Now she's coming in, she _will_ be your new personal secretary, and you better put up with it and let her do her job." She gave him a sharp nod before opening the door.

She had a navy blue suit on, her long dark hair in a braid over one shoulder, and she held a briefcase before herself. She had massive onyx eyes, pale lips, and thick and defined brows.

Bulma ushered her in, shoving her towards Trunks to introduce herself. He stood behind his desk and leaned over to shake her hand.

"I'm Trunks Briefs," He offered, and she took his hand.

"Pan Son." They exchanged smiles. "I believe I am going to be your new personal secretary?"


	2. He's Only Human

So here is the first chapter! Sorry it was so long in the making, but i've been lacking in the inspiration department lately. I hope you like it. Finally something different than my two-part T/P I just finished. (though I miss it...at times, but not really. So bad of me.)

* * *

Pan had sat on the couch in Trunks office, trying to look useful by scribbling notes or setting up his new electronic planner, until lunchtime. It was her first day, he had barely said anything beyond common courtesies, and now she glanced up to see him donning a sport coat over his blue button up shirt.

"Um," she began timidly, "sir, I—" He looked at her. She had a binder and his planner on her lap, and she was ever so timidly trying to gain his attention. He gave her a nod to show he was listening.

"It's just, I was wondering, um...are you going somewhere?" He nodded once again.

"There's a baseball game I'm going to a party at. They'll have some lunch and stuff there."

"Oh, a party?" He looked to her, deciphering whether she was being judgmental or sarcastic with him. "Like a box party?" He gave her an 'Mm, hm' by way of response. "Oh."

"Was there anything else you wanted to ask me, Miss Son?" He was straightening his collar and eyeing her with his startling blue eyes.

"Just, what would you like me to do for you this afternoon?" He looked surprised at her question.

"Well, aren't you going to come with me?" She stood immediately. "You're my personal secretary, remember?" He flashed her his famous smile, that same one that graced the covers and pages of magazines everywhere. "So your job is to accompany me throughout my day, and—if there is any hope—organize my life." Another smile.

"Shall we go?" He opened the door and gestured for her to exit first, and he then fell into step beside her.

* * *

Pan had felt awkward at the party. She had sat, still as a mouse, watching the crowd, speaking to the occasional gentleman who would address her. But with her eyes she keenly watched Trunks.

He was such the confident heir. Smiling to this person, shaking that person's hand and remembering his wife's name so he could ask how she was, politely refusing this or that. He knew how to play the game. He was perfect at it.

Pan was not.

She watched with interest him play the social game, thought of how her strong tongue made her say the wrong things at times, or be too passionate about things during a conversation.

It seemed hours passed by. Trunks was very courteous to her and made sure she was comfortable or all right. Made sure she had plenty to drink and enough to eat. Still she sat, quiet and still as a mouse.

When all was said and done, and the men had hung themselves at the windows to watch the final inning, rooting their baseball team on till the very end, Trunks and she walked outside and climbed into his chauffeured shiny black Cadillac.

"You don't drive a limo?" She had asked him on the way to the baseball game. He had laughed.

"Too bulky." Was his only response. She hadn't replied.

And so now they set themselves on the leather upholstery and he looked out the window with interest.

"Pull over here," He said, and the Cadillac pulled into a Wendy's. "Just through the drive thru, driver." She watched in surprise as Trunks proceeded to roll down his window and order.

"Would you like something?" He asked her. She shook her head wordlessly. "All right, um, two double classics and a large frosty." She watched in further amusement as they drove up to the window and he exchanged some cash for a paper bag containing delicious smelling fast food.

"I can't believe you passed up the chance for a frosty," He commented, unwrapping his burger and taking a massive bite. And Pan started chuckling. And then she started laughing. And then she was cracking up so much he raised a brow at her.

"Um, what is it?" He asked, and finally she caught her breath enough to respond.

"You're in a customized, designer suit," More chuckling erupted. "in a chauffeured car, eating fast food which you ordered from a drive thru." She caught her breath and sighed. "Don't you get the irony?"

"No." He shook his head. "I was hungry. The only food they served there were finger sandwiches and carrot sticks. Wouldn't you be famished if your expected lunch turned out to be that?" He snorted. "I almost left early so I could eat." He began chewing on his burger again. She turned her gaze out to the window.

"I mean," He continued, surprising her, "I'm only human." His statement took her by surprise.

"But you're—I mean, yes sir." She solemnly looked to her lap.

"What?" She shook her head demurely. "All right, Miss Son. Tell me who you think I am." He seemed amused, and leaned back in his seat to watch her.

"Excuse me?"

"Boss and Secretary Relations 101." He stated. "For our first lesson, you will tell me, in point blank honesty, who you think I am."

"Sir?"

"I want to hear it, right now. In point blank honesty. And if you're not honest, I might consider firing you." Her dark brows rose as he folded his arms.

"Well, sir, I..." He waved her on. "From what I've heard, that is...you want me to be honest?" He nodded. "Yes, sir. Well, I believe you to be rich, snobbish, womanizing, spoiled, a partying type, and that you waste money, slack at work, spend more time unproductively than productively..."

"Go on." He encouraged, terribly amused.

"Ungrateful, fake, ignorant of everyday people, inconsiderate, a flirt, and, well, inhuman in general." He applauded her quite literally by clapping his hands.

"Fantastic. I am very glad to know how you feel. It makes me feel better, to be honest. I hope you are up front with me, honest with me, and completely impromptu in everything regarding me. I handle people much better if I can be myself and honest in return. I couldn't do that if you weren't able to tell me if I'm a womanizing jerk or not."

Pan swallowed, completely in shock of this whole conversation.

* * *

A week went by, followed by another, and then another. Pan was settling into her position quite well. Their relationship had blossomed into precisely what he wished it to, and nothing was more attesting to that than one night when she had to make a call to his apartment.

She hopped on the elevator and rode it to the penthouse suite, where she knocked on the door. There were several moments when she considered knocking again, however just when she lifted her fist to do so, the doorknob turned.

Trunks, clad only in dress pants, greeted her. She raised a brow, but entered without hesitation.

"You forgot to sign these papers today while you were at the office and without them our board of trustees will vote out a high moderator, a computer research facility will be forced to shut down, and millions of foreign children will lose their factory jobs." She slapped them down on his kitchen table and whipped out a pen.

"Well, you see, I'm sort of busy right now." She looked at him blankly, the pen still raised in the air. "I'm actually entertaining—"

"It doesn't take that long for you to sign your name, does it?"

"—a guest."

"Trunks?" A voice called from down the hallway. "Who was that?" A tall blonde slinked into the room with barely the same amount of fabric about her person as Trunks, and looked quite put out at Pan's presence.

Pan turned to greet Trunks' love of the evening, and cast her a terribly fake smile. "I'm so sorry to interrupt, but he has to sign a few documents. Just scuttle back and he'll be right with you as I'm sure he doesn't want to keep you, or himself, waiting." The blonde looked Pan up and down in shock. Pan made a scoot motion with her hands, and Trunks smoothed a hand behind his neck.

The girl tossed her hair over her shoulder and disappeared, and Trunks scribbled his signature on the papers and handed them back to Pan.

"Who's the new girl?"

"Just someone in town from Boston. She has an acting gig this week." Pan bit her lip thoughtfully.

"Hmmm. That's actually interesting. I was wondering because, you know, I've never met her before and, well, I'm with you about twenty-two hours a day." She chuckled, more to herself than anything, and made her way to the door.

"Womanizer?" He asked to her back. She turned around and gave him a smile.

"Confirmed, yes." And with that she left.

* * *

"I thought you hated the man," Her mom commented, spooning out a second serving of some tuna casserole on Pan's plate.

"Well, I do but I don't? I mean, he's my boss, the money's great, and the honesty is refreshing. It's just as far as he, himself goes." She twirled her fork before digging in to the melting cheese and noodles.

"I don't think he knew what he was getting into when he asked you to be honest." He father chuckled.

"But I gave him what he asked for, right?"

"Without hesitation." He agreed.

"I like going to work and not having to smile and be fake, and being able to hear the truth from my boss and give him the truth without being fired. He may be a spoiled jerk but he handles the truth quite well."

"He never gets mad at you or irritated when you say something?" Her mother raised a brow as she scooted into the table.

"Like the story we heard of you telling him—" Pan held up a hand defensively to her dad's comment.

"He took that with grace, he really did."

"He doesn't sound like someone I'd like." Videl shook her head as she poked at her salad.

"You wouldn't like him. And I've never said _I_ do." Gohan laughed and shared a look with his daughter.

They heard a knock at the door, and her father went to answer it. There was muffled speaking, the sound of the door being shut, and Gohan called for Pan.

"You have a visitor, Pan." He said, and she got up from her seat, surprised. "Mr. Briefs." Her eyebrows rose.

"Bring him on in," Her mother slapped her with her napkin.

"What are you thinking?" She hissed, rising from her seat. Pan shrugged uncaringly as her father and Trunks walked into the room. Her boss had a sweater on under a brown leather jacket, and there was a touch of pink to his cheeks, probably from the cold weather.

"Mr. Briefs, this is my wife, Videl." Gohan gestured to Videl, who shook Trunks' hand rather warily.

"Um, I'm done with dinner," Pan took her plate. "Join me in the kitchen?" Trunks followed her after courteous nods and smiles Gohan and Videl's way.

"So there's this press conference tonight I really don't want to go to," He began. "I have nothing to say to them, and I had to cancel dinner plans with Litka."

"That German model?" Trunks nodded. She rinsed off her plate and began soaping it up with a scrubber. "So did I miss the point to all this—your statement? Your visit?"

"Was there one?" She looked at him and shook her head.

"I think you just want to vent."

"Exactly. You can't go and smile and read script lines to the public for me, can you?" She shook her head. "Then what _do_ you do?"

"I organize your chaotic and pathetic life."

"Ah, yes." He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"Come on, really. It isn't that hard. Just smile, read rehearsed lines that will make people applaud and take notes for tomorrow's headlines, and leave. Buck up and take it like a man."

"But I really wanted to have dinner with Litka." He whined, and she brushed a dishtowel over her plate before setting it on a drying rack.

"She has a speech impediment." She commented flatly.

"Who cares?"

"You would if you were planning on spending more than this weekend with her. Don't worry, more models will fly into town for next weekend and you can find a new girl to be seen around town with, and who you can waste money on for no real reason."

Silence ensued before he relented, saying, "You are right." She nodded briskly.

"You know I always am." She sighed and glanced at the microwave clock. "Now be gone with you. Go change and go to the press conference." He nodded glumly. "See you in the office tomorrow morning?" To this he nodded as well before letting himself out the door. She entered the dining room to find her parents pathetically trying to act natural.

"Were you listening?" She asked them, and they finally admitted they had been. "Do you like him?" She asked her mother.

"No."

"I told you so." Her father chuckled but didn't say anything. "He's only human." Pan shrugged.

"So I've heard." Was her mother's response.

* * *


	3. Soulless Wonder

Sorry this was such a long wait for chapter II, it's just i've been working really hard on my personal webpage for my fanfiction, which has taken up a couple weeks. Take a look at my site if you'd like. The address is on my profile, just go to the fanfiction section. Oh, and i'm running my annual fanfiction Q&A if you'd care to participate. Details are on my page. Hope you like the chapter!

* * *

"Why are they so nosy?" Trunks dropped a couple egg rolls onto his plate.

"Because they have nothing better to do!" Pan held out her hand and Trunks gave her the tongs. "Thanks," She picked up an egg roll.

"But it's not fair!" She snorted as they walked back to the table, setting their Chinese food down as Oriental music played in the background.

"You got drunk at a high class party, and some embarrassing pictures were taken. This isn't the press's fault—it's yours!" She shook her head, but a small smile was on her lips. "Take it like a man." She poked him across the table with her chopsticks.

"Aren't you supposed to help me?" She gave him a sarcastic look. "I mean, weren't you supposed to protect me?"

"From who? I can't protect you from yourself." She gestured. "Pass the duck sauce." He complied and she dumped some on her food. "Seriously, you have to be more careful." He sighed and skewered some Szechuan Pork.

"But how do I fix it?" She gave him a funny look.

"You don't." She said like the answer was obvious. "There's no way to fix it, or shut people up, or get those pictures off magazine's, television, newspapers, webpages—" He held up a hand defensively. "You just weather it out and be better than you were. Eventually the hype will die down. That is, if you straighten up and don't give anyone anymore room to take pictures like that." He let out another sigh.

"Um, excuse me…?" A little voice nearly whispered beside them, and they turned to find a young girl with a magazine and a marker. "Would you mind, Mr. Briefs, giving me your autograph?"

"Oh, sure. Of course." He flashed her his famous smile, uncapping the marker and signing his name across a glossy picture of himself.

"Thank you so much!" Her face lit up with a blush, and she gave a cute smile before dashing off. Pan leaned back in her chair.

"You're welcome!" Trunks called after her.

"You see, Trunks," Pan grinned. "There are tons of teenage girls on your side, rooting you on." She chuckled, and he rolled his eyes. "With such a fan base, you could conquer the world with their girlpower!"

* * *

"Gwhut?" Lavender hair spilled out from under the blanket.

"Sorry, I missed that." Pan poked the monstrous bulge that was Trunks' body under the down comforter.

"What?" He snapped again, clearly disoriented as his head emerged, his body tangled in sheets, blankets, and his silk pajama pants.

"You're late for work." Pan, in a navy pantsuit with a white and blue striped shirt, pointed to her watch. He furrowed his brows in amazement.

"Who cares?" He finally said in bewilderment. She sighed and folded her arms, suddenly fascinated with the wall.

"No one actually cares, but you are the President and you need to sign all the checks." Trunks snorted and tried getting out of the bed.

"Oh, I see. I'm only important as far as the money goes—" He had been attempting to stand, however he was too tangled in the bed linens that he fell in a crumpled heap. Pan stood over him now, looking down at him.

"You said it, not me."

An hour later they were climbing out of Trunks' car, Pan walking with her briefcase in her hand, and Trunks' jacket slung over her arm. Trunks was stumbling along beside her, trying to finish buttoning up his blue shirt.

They trotted into the front reception area, and Pan tossed him his jacket as they boarded the elevator.

"Aren't you embarrassed?" She finally asked as they reached the top with a _ding!_, the metal doors sliding to reveal a workplace in a pleasantly busy bustle.

"About what?" She snorted, and they turned a corner in the maze of cubicles.

"About coming in to work at eleven and just starting the day? You _are_ the President of this corporation."

"Am I?" She resisted the urge to shoot him a look that begged the same question, but instead remained silent. "I mean, I'm beginning to think you are."

"I can butt out of this position—your fantastical life—if you would like." She turned around, walking backwards, her hands grasping her briefcase in front of her, an open expression on her face.

He stopped walking and slung a hand on his waist. He looked quite thoughtful for a moment, then shook his head. "No, you can't go. I need you too much." She gave a silent laugh, an open smile to herself as she continued to his office.

"Oh, Stacy!" She approached an attractive young woman carrying several mugs of coffee.

"Hello, Ms. Son." Pan dismissed away the formality with wave of her hand. Stacy shot a shy smile Trunks' way and he nodded in return.

"Taking coffee around to the Monday office workers?" Pan asked with a knowing look and a smile, and Stacy grinned and nodded.

"I went for some and got flagged down along the way. Was there something I could do for you?" She started divvying coffee cups out to workers as Pan withdrew some papers from her briefcase. "Oh," She took the forms Pan handed her.

"Thanks so much, Stacy!" She gave her arm a squeeze before heading to Trunks' office. And though Trunks followed her, she could tell his mind—and his eyes—were someplace else.

"No," She said, and after a few moments he actually seemed to hear her.

"What do you mean?" He asked, bewildered.

"You know exactly what I mean. She's cute, with long hair and a killer smile—I know you're attracted, but it's out of the question."

"Why?" All further attempts at denial had been cast off.

"Because you know what happened last time with a girl from work. _And_ the time before. We are not repeating any of that—especially with that party scandal last week. I swear it's the last time I ever let you hold anything alcoholic besides what you clean your ears with."

He seemed to pout, but didn't put up a further fight as far as that was concerned, instead grumbling, "That old man had nothing better to do."

"You were leaning against his car and making out, Trunks. And he was in his eighties. He had to get _someone_ to tear you off the girl." They turned down the lonely hallway to his personal office.

"And he would, of course, choose a reporter that had been staking out the restaurant for me!" She grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Stop being a victim, Trunks. The old man grabbed the nearest available body. Just stop blaming everyone else for your unfortunate excuse for a life!" The silence that followed was strikingly heavy considering the noise of copy machines, telephones, and the clacking of keyboards that was an ever-constant blare around them.

"I'm sorry." She finally said, lessening her pride just enough to say her apology.

"From the beginning I asked for the truth." He shrugged, and without another word he slipped away from her.

* * *

Pan had worked diligently at avoiding Trunks for the rest of the afternoon. So when it was time to end the day and he approached her to give her a ride, she was in shock that he acted casually and didn't seem changed in the least.

In fact, he brought up small talk and business discussions so fluently that it was only when they pulled up to her apartment that she got a chance to address what she desperately wished to.

"Trunks—"

"So I see why the rates—yes?"

"Aren't you mad at me?" The driver came around and opened the car door. "Aren't you angry for what I said to you?"

"I don't think we really need to talk about it," He let out a breath. "Good evening, Pan." She was silent, and quietly made her way to the door, but as she took her first step out he reached for her wrist and she turned around.

"I was…until I realized you were right." Their eyes met for a moment, understanding passed between them, and he let her go. "I'll see you tomorrow, Pan."

* * *

A week later, things were back to normal—much to Pan's dismay. Such was the case when she found herself dashing up the front steps and through the front door of the skyscraper Trunks' penthouse apartment resided in.

She punched the button for the elevator impatiently, and bit her lip as she waited for it to climb to the top. Briefcase clutched in her grasp, her ebony hair a sheet cascading down from the crown of her head, where a headband rested, she knocked on his front door. And knocked again. Losing her patience, she drew out her key to his apartment and pushed through the door.

"Trunks! Trunks, where are you?" She walked through the living room, the kitchen, the study, past the bathroom, and then burst through his bedroom door.

"You have an important meeting with—" He wasn't alone. She bit her lip, silencing herself as she cast her eyes downward. "Um, so sorry, it's just—"

"Who is she?" The brunette lifted herself to her elbows and cast Pan a look reminiscent of disgust. Trunks yawned widely.

"My personal secretary," He looked at Pan curiously. "And why are you looking so bashful, Pan? We were just sleeping when you so rudely barged in here, nothing else—nothing obscene." He yawned again.

"What did you want?" The girl snapped impatiently.

Pan narrowed her eyes. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me, now what do you want? You woke me up." She gave Pan an annoyed looked.

"Now see here," Trunks interrupted, "both of you just drop it here. Veronica—"

"Julie."

"Sorry. Julie, this is none of your business in honesty. Pan, what was it you came here for?" He had sat up in bed, and looked like a political negotiator sitting there, bare chest and bare who knew what else.

"I was coming to make sure you were up and prepared for your meeting with the CEO of Flashback. It's eleven o'clock. You're meeting's at twelve." She slung her arms into a fold.

"Excellent, thank you, Pan." Julie wordlessly slipped out of bed in her little purple nightie and crept into the dressing room. "Now don't go, Pan; I'll get dressed and go with you." Pan took a seat by the window. Julie reappeared a few moments later.

"I'll be going now, Trunks—have a spectacular day!" She bounced and flounced out of the room after giving Pan a little sneer and Pan thought she heard Trunks vaguely call out a farewell in return from the bathroom.

"I totally forgot about the meeting today," He offered later in apology as he slipped his arms into a crisp white shirt. Pan turned towards him.

"She was a real piece of work," Pan commented with a snicker.

"Absolutely. But she was gorgeous." He buttoned his sleeves and went into the dressing room for a tie. Pan snorted.

"And is that the highest priority to you? I mean—"

"No." She blinked at him. He stood in the doorway, adjusting the knot to his tie. "More than anything," He began, coming closer to her and leaning down to meet her square in the eye, "I want a woman of spirit." Pan didn't know how to answer that.

"But," He stood up straight again and ducked into his dressing room once more; this time for shoes. "Women with spirit often see straight through me."

"And you don't like to bare your soul to them?" Pan asked.

"No, it's not that." He sat down on his bed and promptly began to put on his shoes. "It's that women with spirit see straight through me and discover," He finished tying his shoes and simply looked at her. "That I have no soul." He just shrugged.

* * *


	4. Guinevere's Stupidity

**_This chapter sure didn't take me long - considering how long it usually takes for me to update. lol.Thanks everyone for the lovely reviews, and the impressive hits to my fanfiction page! Thanks so much! Hope you like the chapter._**

**_- Astarii_**

**I've gotten some wonderful questions sent to me for my Q&A, i'm excited to be able to answer them. There's still time to send in a question if you haven't had a chance yet. Details on my website. Thanks guys!

* * *

**

Four months later…

* * *

The phone rang at 138 North Chestnut Street, and Pan started, streaking toenail polish over the cuticle of her big toe. With a wince she set aside her polish bottle and padded across her bedroom to get her cordless.

"Hello?"

"No, not that one—hello, Pan! No, of course not. Naturally. Good afternoon! How are you this Saturday?"

"Pretty good."

"Fantastic. Say, could you jet down here and meet me? It's really important and would make my day." She put a hand on her hip.

"Trunks, I'm kind of busy—"

"With what? Doing laundry? You never do anything on a Saturday; I know you."

"What do you want?" She hiked her foot up on the bed and started scraping gooey polish off her cuticle.

"I just need your opinion on something. It will only take a second, I swear. Grab a cab and come to 67th and Valor. I'll pay the driver when you get here." He hung up.

* * *

Pan had thrown on some jeans and a sweater, and snatched her coat off the hook on her way out. She had plodded outside to the unusually bright and warm March afternoon and hailed a cab.

Now, fifteen minutes later, she was coming to the corner of 67th and Valor. It was a shopping district, and she narrowed her eyes when she saw Trunks standing at the corner, right outside a furniture store.

He trotted over happily and opened her door, and handed the cab driver a twenty, ignoring her sulky mood. They exchanged pleasantries, Trunks bright and smiling, Pan annoyed and cold. And as he opened the furniture store door, a barrage of employees greeted them.

"Mr. Brief's, sir," A balding man with a crisp business suit nodded anxiously. "Right this way, sir." He led them up two flights of stairs to their exclusive antique department, and several important looking employees dared to follow at a respectful pace.

"What is this about?" Pan asked through her teeth, but Trunks only smiled and shiftily looked around, acting as if he hadn't heard her.

The man opened a double set of doors and invited them into his exclusive showroom. There were beds, tables, dining sets, hutches, dressers, and who knew what else in every Louis, King of France style conjured, it seemed. And with the price tags, she assumed Louis the 58th himself had sat his royal derrière on most of them.

"Mr. Brief's, you were looking at the Louis the 14th and Louis the 15th beds from the Chateau series?" Trunks gave a nod, and Pan looked at him like he was crazy.

The fat bald man led them to two beds in a corner, set on their own raised daises, and he flipped a switch that now shone spotlights on them like they were the latest pop diva on stage.

"Which do you like, Pan?" Trunks asked her.

"I don't need a bed."

"Not for you, of course." He said.

"You don't need a bed." Trunks snorted.

"Not for me, either. No, it's actually a present for my mom. Her birthday's next week." Pan blinked, staring at the beds as if trying to decipher a secret code. She continued to stare purposefully before lifting her hands up and shrugging.

"They look exactly the same to me. Perhaps I could help you more if I didn't think this was an idiotic waste of money." She folded her arms and looked down at the floor. The owner of the store didn't even try to hide his alarm at her comment.

"Um, Pan? Why didn't you just say so earlier?" Pan let out a long sigh.

* * *

"How was I supposed to know that's what you were doing, eh?" Pan poked Trunks as they walked down the street, ice-cream cones in hand. "I want you to know that I was minding my own business, painting my toenails—" Trunks gave her a look, and she gave him an indignant one in return. "And you had the nerve to call me up and insist I dash down to 67th street to help you pick out furniture? I want you to know I live on Chestnut, a good, solid taxi ride away from—"

Trunks' was chuckling, and she knew she had no more hope of convincing him at this point. She gave up and they walked in comfortable silence.

"Hey," she said after a while, "why 'not me, of course'?"

"What do you mean?" He tossed the soggy remnants of his cone in the trash.

"I mean, back there, when we were looking at furniture and I said I didn't need a bed, you said 'not for you, of course'." Trunks smiled, slipping his hands into his khaki pockets.

"You're not flattered by that type of thing." He said it as if it were obvious.

"What?" She stopped walking and turned to face him, her expression curious.

"Presents, expensive dates, extravagant vacations, jewelry, all that sort of thing. Those things don't impress you. For example, most guys do that sort of thing to impress a girl. And most girls get all impressed and squishy when guys spend lots of money on them."

"Squishy?" She asked.

"Yeah, squishy. All furrowed brows and pouting, smiling lips and tilted head. And of course they all do the sound."

"'The sound'?"

"Yes, the sound." He cleared his throat and held out a hand in a grand motion. "Awwwww." She smiled, shaking her head at the completely true cliché. "But those things don't make you squeal and go all cheerleader bouncy. In fact, you could care less."

"I like nice things," She argued, but he shook his head.

"Yes, you like nice things. But not to impress." This was true. She couldn't argue that. "And, for instance, when placed with a decision, say, between a platinum ring with a three carat diamond or a simple cubic zirconia with a sentimental inscription—purchased at a department store that also sells toilet paper—you would, without doubt, choose the one with sentimental value."

"You aren't status bent like most women. And you don't care about, well, all that stupid stuff."

"Stupid stuff?" Trunks knew it got on Pan's nerves when he used grammatically unpleasing and vague words like 'stuff' in sentences.

"I dunno'," He shrugged big and tossed his lavender hair from his eyes. Pan couldn't help a smile.

"Then what do I get impressed with, Mr. Brief's?" She folded her arms and he flashed a magazine-cover smile.

"You know, all the deep stuff. Valor, a noble heart," he began grandly, "quick mind, faultless sense of justice," She held up a hand to interrupt.

"You make me sound like I'm aiming for a guy straight out of an Arthurian legend." She pointed out.

"Well are you?" He teased.

"Of course not." She responded defiantly. "I don't pine away waiting for my true love to return, or swoon at the sight of an honorable knight. And I most certainly wouldn't have dumped Arthur for Lancelot."

"Who said you did?"

"Well," she continued, "all the Arthurian romances depict that that was the way for any true maiden to go."

"And you don't agree?"

"Hardly." He grinned.

"You don't think," he began loudly, "that true love surpasses any barrier, and that you must seize it at the risk of everything?"

"Guinevere gave up the only true love she had—in Arthur."

"How so?"

"True love isn't romance and adventure. It builds through time, understanding, trust and respect."

"And what of attraction?" He argued.

"Naturally that is necessary, but you can be attracted to numerous people. I mean, you've proved that yourself, haven't you?" She teased. "But we've strayed from our topic, haven't we?"

"But I've learned a lot." He said solemnly.

"Of me?" She laughed. "And what have you learned, then?"

"That I had you wrong. You don't desire a man of glory or high honor and nobility." She lifted a brow. "It's just that you will only settle for a man of character. Someone who will be the best that he himself can be." He had suddenly turned serious. "But that's the hardest impression for a man to achieve, isn't it? It isn't material. It isn't superficial or superfluous." He sighed. "And you just can't buy it."

"No, you can't." She responded simply, and after a moment the mood lightened and they both exchanged casual smiles.

"Dinner?" He asked, and she looked at him curiously. "I mean, can I take you to get some dinner?"

"Oh. Oh, um, I can't tonight. Sorry."

"All right."

"It's just," she began to explain, "I have a date tonight." He was taken aback. "But thanks a lot for the offer."

"No problem—anytime. You know that." She nodded happily. "Well, can I hail you a cab then?" And he promptly set of to do so.

* * *

The doorbell to Pan's apartment rang later that night, and Pan was happy to see her best friend, Mary.

"I just swung by to, well, I knew you had a date and thought you might want to hash," She grinned and presented a big bag of junk food. Pan couldn't help but urge her in excitedly, totally appreciative.

"So, tell, tell," Mary hopped onto the couch and Pan joined her clad in pajamas and house shoes.

"Well, nothing much. We just went out to dinner, that's all."

"Do you like him?" Mary pressed, and Pan bit her lip as she leaned forward confidentially.

"Not at all!" They both laughed over Doritos as they chatted about the night's events. That conversation led to hashings over past dating experiences and catastrophes.

"Isn't there anyone your interested in?" Mary popped a chip into her mouth and chomped noisily. Pan only shrugged.

"I'm so busy with work. I mean, I don't see anyone except, well, my boss."

"I wouldn't complain if I were you." Mary was probably the most pleased with Pan's position as personal secretary to the world's most popular bachelor. "He's simply delicious. Why do you get all the fun?" Pan snorted. "You don't like him at all?" She asked incredulously.

"Not at all." She lifted and dropped her shoulders in a stiff shrug.

"I think you're in denial." Mary confided, but Pan only shook her head.

"There's no way. I mean, he's irresponsible in his job, with his money—with his life! But besides that, he's not my type. Not even physically."

"Denial."

"There's no way I'd be interested in a guy who buys condoms in bulk and wakes up Monday's with such a hangover he has no earthly clue where he was, what he did, or _who_ he did, over the weekend. And then finds out he spent twenty-thousand dollars on a credit card Saturday night somewhere he's ever even heard of." She commented hotly.

"Denial," Mary said. "Complete denial."

* * *


	5. You See Me

**Two Months Later…**

* * *

"Where is Mr. Briefs?" There was a hush all around the boardroom table, and ill-disguised glances Pan's way. She stood.

"I'm sitting in for him this morning," She announced, but silence remained. "He's, er, sick this morning, and asked me to take notes." The meeting began then, slowly, but surely. And Pan scribbled away in a notebook.

Two hours later…

"Where were you!?" She slammed her notebook on Trunks' dining room table and gave him a foul scowl. "I had to sit in on that stupid meeting, taking notes you'll never look at, because you're feeling a tad flush?" She started pacing around the kitchen as he munched on a toasted bagel.

"I'm really very sorry, Pan."

"You always are!" She shot back.

"Pan, I—" She held up a hand.

"You know what, just save it." She slapped her notebook down in front of him and retrieved her coat from the table chair. "There are the notes I took, even though you won't end up looking at them." She swung her coat around her shoulders and left.

* * *

"Here are some messages for you," She set several slips of paper down on the edge of his desk. "and some girl named Vivki said she'd be ready at eight." Trunks looked up at her, but she didn't meet his eye, just took her gaze from the stack of messages to the door where she attempted to escape without another word.

"Pan," She stopped dead in her tracks, and then turned around blankly. "I know you're still upset with me," She raised her brows, folding her arms and trying to act unaware of what he meant. "You haven't spoken to me in three days, and you're hardly ever around." He said pointedly.

"I've spoken to you lots of times, and I'm around whenever I'm needed." She returned in feigned innocence.

"You know what I mean." He leaned back and folded his arms. "Now come here." She set down in the chair across from him. "I'm sorry, I really am. It's just—"

"You?" He furrowed his brows. "It's just you? It's just how you are. You don't try to be superficial or a prick. It's just how it happens. It's just how you are." If he was upset at the words "superficial" or "prick" being used to describe him, he gave no sign of it. "And you really are sorry, I know you are. It's just that, Trunks…" She shook her head and looked down, but he leant forward, tucking a finger under her chin and lifted it up for her to look him in the eye.

"What?" Pan had been used to a whole lot of different tones and different lilts Trunks used with that word, but when he said it to her this time, she didn't know what to make of the sincerity and the intimacy that this "what" bore.

"It's just I don't want to see you ruin your life this way. I hate seeing your irresponsibility distort the way they see the Trunks I know. You're smart, quick, and people don't see that because you're always late, or running of with this model, or throwing this expensive bash.

"It's just that, with these past few months, I've really become…close to you. And I just, well…I feel I owe it to you to tell you the good and the bad. That's what you asked for, right?" And he nodded, with a small smile on his face. That genuine smile that made a small dimple appear on his right cheek.

"Thank you, Pan." She pulled at her skirt nervously and stood.

"All right then—off to work!" She splayed a peppy smile and started out of his office.

"Great. Oh, but Pan, before you go. Did you happen to take down Vivki's number?" She stopped in her tracks, turning around and ready to glare, but then she saw his teasing grin and the mischievous twinkle in his eye.

* * *

Pan glanced at the clock in her office. 4:25. She snatched her electronic organizer and dashed down the hallway. She skipped down some stepped, turned a corner, then another, and brought herself into hiding in an unused office.

She _tapped-tapped-tapped_ away on the organizer, it gave a beep, and a little name went from faded lettering to bold and italic. **_Briefsman _**began a conversation with her instantly, typing away with the abbreviated words common with teens in chatrooms. She began _tap-tap-tapping_ a series of dates, figures, numbers, and key information through the instant messaging system.

Meanwhile, in a major meeting two floors up, Trunks sat at the head of the table, his hands hidden below the desk, where they were carrying on a digital conversation with his personal secretary. He nonchalantly glanced around the room, stealing quick peeks at the important series of instant messages displayed below him.

"Mr. Briefs, your opinion on this venture before we discuss further?"

Trunks flashed a brilliant smile. "I think with the positive response we received through a similar venture two years ago—with the same department—it will definitely prove itself worth our time, and I foresee substantial profits. And equally substantial growth in that department." There were nods around the room in agreement. Trunks was just glad it didn't sound too much like he had just read it point blank from his text message conversation with Pan.

"Good job," Pan and Trunks met in the hallway, both saying the same thing. As they fell into step together, they exchanged smiles and both said, "Thanks."

"So what are you up to tonight?" He asked her, sliding his palm pilot into his inner coat pocket.

"My parents are coming over for dinner, actually."

"I'd like to meet your parents eventually." He commented thoughtfully.

"You have." She pointed out.

"I mean really meet them. I've only seen them in passing once—twice."

"Well, they're staying for a couple days so you might just bump into them. So what are _you_ doing tonight?" He bit his lip and looked around the offices as if for something, then turned to her.

"Oh, just going out. I've got a date, it would seem." She shook her head, but with a smile, and didn't comment. "Why are you giving me such a bad time? It's the weekend, everyone needs to cut loose!" She looked to him in amazement.

"It's Tuesday, Trunks."

* * *

Pan and her parents sat around her living room late that night, flipping through televisions shows, each one waiting for another to announce their own bedtime. And just as Pan had given up the competition to announce it was late enough for her, the phone rang, flashing Trunks' cellphone number.

"Phan?" His voice slurred on the other end. "Phan can'oo hear me?"

"Trunks, where are you?" She asked worriedly.

There was silence, and then he said, "I don't know, Phan." Pan rolled her eyes.

"What bar, Trunks? Are you at a bar? A party? On the street?" She exclaimed sarcastically. There was muffled noise and she heard him ask someone where he was.

"Jwilli-anns." _Click_. Pan cursed as she turned off her phone and her parents looked to her in alarm.

"The babysitter must go and save the day," She announced glumly, throwing on the closest coat she had. "Seems little Lord Fauntleroy got himself drunk and delirious." She slipped her feet into her pink polka dot slippers.

"Pan, I'll go," He father insisted, but she held up a hand, said she'd be right back, and left without further word.

Half an hour later she was riding in Trunks' Cadillac with a slightly more sober Trunks, thanks to some tricks of the trade she had become good at. He wasn't a slurring fool anymore, just a quiet, overly-solemn man staring out the window as if he might be thinking hard on life or perhaps the Buddha's philosophies.

And then he turned around in a great motion, catching his balance with his arm on the seat, his face suddenly inches from her. And he looked thoughtfully at her eyes, the curve of her cheek, the wisps of her hair that had fallen from her ponytail.

"Thank you, Pan, for coming to get me." He wasn't waiting for an answer or a "your welcome". "You know," he said, tracing the curve of her jaw, "you're always so good to me. You—you always pick me up when I'm drunk, or give me advice, and _you see me_, Pan." Her lower lip dropped just a touch, her dark brows slightly furrowed, slightly raised. "Especially when no one else wants to." His finger came to her lips, and moved ever so slowly across them, then stopping, right at her pout. "So soft," He whispered to himself, and she blushed, pulling back. "What?" He asked, but she only shook her head, now smiling in an embarrassed way. The neon signs flashed past the tinted windows, giving a strange, strobe-like light.

"What are you so embarrassed about?" He asked once more, leaning her way, his fingers coming to rest on her lips once more. "I just never knew they were so soft." His drunken honesty was almost amusing, and as she had no room to pull back again, she simply bowed her head.

"You're teasing me," She said.

"Not at all." was his response.

"Then—" His lips met hers and she nearly gasped for shock. Her heart starting beating so heavy she knew he must be able to hear it, and he took her hand in his, clasping it before his chest. She didn't know what to do. Her annoyingly spoiled boss was drunk, kissing her, and she hadn't the faintest notion of what to do. And she lacked any desire to push him away, strangely enough.

He kissed her so softly, like she was a delicate porcelain doll, but there was a passion behind it that was tangible. And his warm fingers around her cold hand. It was so nice kissing him she lost herself in the rush, and then felt like a silly schoolgirl when their lips parted, her eyes darting to the floor nervously. Her heart was beating fast, _ba-dump! ba-dump! ba-dump!_, and he wasn't saying a word.

"Mr. Briefs, Ms. Son, we're here at your apartment, miss," The driver announced through the speaker and Pan nearly jumped straight up like a cat. She fumbled for the door handle, opened the door and stepped out without a word, then leant her head back in.

"Good night, Trunks." He smiled a small, secret smile.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Pan." She nodded. "And thank you." She nodded again, awkwardly, and then shut the door. She watched the car drive off into the late night and bit her lip, hard. She must be having a dream. Or a nightmare, perhaps.

* * *


	6. Enter The Hippie

"Hangover?" She asked. Trunks was leaning over his desk in a half fetal, half sprawling position when Pan found him. He didn't even nod and she walked over to his telephone and tucked it under her chin as she pounded a number in.

"…blast those Russians and their vodka…" he mumbled.

"Hi? Tim? I want a Trunks special up here in five minutes." She hung up the phone a little too loudly for Trunks and he groaned. "You know, it's amazing you got into your apartment last night after you dropped me off. Did the driver have to escort you?" She sat down across from his desk.

"You were with me last night?" Had Trunks not had his face plastered against his desk he would have seen the surprise that flashed across her face. She blinked; scrambled to recover from the strange, uncomfortable feeling that was doing dances in her stomach.

"Yeah…" 

"_I just never knew they were so soft."_

"So Pan's a secret party girl?" There was both sarcasm and pleasant surprise in his voice. "I never even knew—"

"_So soft."_

"Shut up. I went to go pick your drunken self up because you were so helpless you couldn't tell anyone where you were." He raised his head. She stood. "I'm gonna head out for lunch—your specialty will be here any second." And she left.

* * *

When Pan knew it wasn't quite lunchtime she supposed she might as well take an early lunch. But then she discovered it was only ten-thirty and decided a snack break would do just fine, and she made her way to the vending machines.

"That really didn't bother me," she said to herself, "it's just that it surprised me." She put some coins in and starting perusing her selections. "I don't care at all—but why, I mean, how—I didn't expect him to remember it at all. I mean, he was so drunk last night how could he?" She punched the button harshly. "I'm just imagining things. I'm just distracted and making things out of nothing." She retrieved her soda from the machine and snapped it open, then turned to a worker who had just approached. "I'm just making up tremendously out of proportion things out of nothing, right?" She walked out of the room, but the bounce in her step was a tad forced.

* * *

A week later Trunks poked his head into Pan's office. "Hey, Pan, could you get a plane ticket set up for me?"

"Where are you going?" She asked, whipping out a pen to jot down the details.

"Nowhere—hey, Cindy, good job on those comprehensive reports—fantastic!" She bit her lip and waited. Cindy turned a corner and slipped out of sight. "What was her report on, again?"

"Our stock options for employees?"

"Oh, yeah—boring. Couldn't get past the first paragraph. Anywho—next Wednesday, morning, first class ticket for one. One way leaving from San Francisco." And he disappeared. That next Wednesday, Pan was greeting a tall girl with butterscotch hair, bell-bottomed jeans, and a small collection of multi-colored jelly bracelets ringing both arms. The cab driver that had brought her was unloading her bags on the front steps of the office building.

"Marron," She presented a hand with chipping purple nail polish on its fingernails, which Pan took.

"Pan—Pan Son."

Marron tilted her head to the side and grinned with a slight, knowing squint. Pan was reminded of every other California girl she had ever met: Hippies, Surfer deadheads, or L.A. snots, the whole lot of them. "You're Trunks' personal secretary, right?"

"Riiight. Yes, that's me." Her eyes darted in search of salvation. She met it when she saw Trunks jogging down the front steps. Trunks and Marron's greeting, however, was a mixture of hug, rabid animal attack, twirls and clinging vines. Pan blinked and gripped her clipboard for protection.

"Marron!" Trunks exclaimed. "Marron, Marron, Mar-ron!" Marron only giggled in reply. Pan suddenly felt awkward and in the way. She bit her lip, thought offhandedly about how she had been doing that a whole lot in the last two weeks, and let her eyes wander everywhere but the scene before her. Finally Trunks decided to set the flower child down and with bright eyes re-introduced Marron and Pan.

"Well, it's great to meet you," Pan said, "but I better get back to some work. Trunks, are you going to the internship meeting?"

"Do I ever go to any meeting?" He responded.

"True. OK, well I'll see you later." She went to the meeting and took notes that, as usual, Trunks would never look at.

* * *

Pan punched buttons on her cell phone, checking for new text messages again. She hadn't done more than talk to Trunks briefly for two days now. He had been touring the city with Marron, showing her the sites, and didn't need Pan to hover or help organize his schedule, it seemed. He told her this morning that she didn't need to go into work because he wouldn't be there, and he thought she might as well have a day off. The trouble was she had nothing to do and was bored out of her mind.

"I wonder what Mary's doing," She mused aloud, and decided to give her a call. Forty-five minutes later they were strolling the open markets together.

"So who is this girl?"

"Marron. Apparently she's an old friend? I mean, I've known about her in a general sort of way for a long time now, I've just never met her."

"Mmm."

"What?"

"I don't know. Is there any romantic attachment? Is it a friends thing?"

"I have no idea." Pan's cellphone rang. "Yes?" It was Trunks.

"_Pan! Hey! I hate to bother you, I know I let you off today—but I was wondering if you think you can get me two tickets to the Keller Theatre tonight, for the Opera."_

"I'll try. Have them keep the tickets at the box? No problem. Sure. Yes. Bye."

"What was that?" Mary leaned over a stack of carrots to check the price on some salad greens.

"Trunks wants tickets to take Marron to the Opera tonight in the Keller Theatre." She started looking in her palm pilot for the number to the theatre.

"Must be nice to just decide to go to the nicest theatre in New York for one of the most sold out shows of the season." Pan only shrugged.

* * *

Pan opened up Trunks schedule for the day to get a grip on his agenda. She had made a couple phone calls to get more details on meetings and appointments when Trunks dropped by her office.

"Cancel everything for me today,"

"Going out?" She asked.

"Yes." He said.

"Sightseeing?"

"Yes."

"I see. All right." She immediately picked up the phone.

"Oh, and can you call a taxi to pick up Marron at her hotel?"

* * *

"Off again today, honey?" Gohan asked his daughter over the phone. "You sure have been off of work a lot lately."

"Tell me about it. But hey, at least I'm still getting paid the same." She started tearing some lettuce for a dinner salad.

"What's going on with Mr. Briefs?"

"He has a friend in town and he's been showing her around the city." She adjusted the phone, tucking it more securely under her chin as she started slicing some carrots into the bowl of greens.

"Oh? Is this a girlfriend?"

"I cannot disclose this information. I'm not at liberty to discuss it." She joked in an official tone. "He's been gone every day though." She said.

"Does that bother you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, does it bother you that he's spending all his time with some girl?" She stopped what she was doing.

"What are you talking about?" She said. "You've got to be joking." Her father didn't say anything for a few moments and she chuckled. "Daddy, you've got some strange notions, I tell you."

"You're pretty defensive, Panny."

"I am not!"

"Did you just hear yourself?" She was annoyed at the smile she could just hear through his voice.

"Oh, please, this is pathetic."

"You're the one getting all huffy, I haven't said—"

"Daddy, if you think I'm interested in such a self-conceited, spoiled, rich, egotistical playboy then you don't know me very well." She tossed the stub of the carrot into the trash and started on a second one.

"You know, Pan, you're always saying what's bad about him. It's like you're convincing yourself." She shook her head.

"I've got to eat dinner, Daddy. But thanks for the comments. Love you." And she hung up, then slammed the cordless on the counter, irritated. She looked at the phone and snorted. "Oh, please."

* * *

"Mind if I sit here?" Trunks, to Pan's surprise, sat down across from her. He never took coffee in the company café. "I saw you all sitting by your lonesome—I couldn't help but come over and—" She glared at him and he stopped whatever he was about to say.

"Um, how have you been?" She asked at length. He shrugged. "Have you liked touring the city like a tourist?"

"It's been fun. But I'm glad I have a break today. Marron's not feeling the best, so I told her to take it easy. I can't afford for her to not feel good this weekend." Pan bit her lip. She hated acting curious or nosy, but—

"What's going on this weekend?" She asked, and he got a secretive grin.

"Let's just say I've got a surprise in store for her? So Pan, how have you been? I haven't really seen you in a while."

"Well," She twirled her spoon in her coffee. "Not necessarily busy as, uh—"

"You're job is taking care of me and there's no me to take care of?" He sent her a quirky smile that made her stomach flop strangely. But she returned his smile with a shrug. "I hate to divulge secrets," he leaned forward and began to whisper, "but I can promise you that soon, once a certain _event_ has taken place, things will get back to normal, I'm thinking." He gave her a wink and stood. "Uh, well…take care of yourself." He hesitated, then gave her a little slug to the shoulder. "All right?" And he disappeared.


	7. Enter The Nerd

He appeared quite lost. Pan observed him under dark arched brows with a sort of disbelief. He was floating around the floor in khaki slacks and a green button up shirt. No jacket, but he had a matching tie around his neck, and black, square-framed glasses perched on his nose. He looked, honestly, lost. A messenger bag was slung over his shoulder, and a sweater was draped over his arm. He looked around nervously, his eyes glinting when he inspected something closer.

"Um, can I help you?" She asked warily. He turned to her and grinned.

"No. No, thank you. I'm just waiting for someone." He nodded quickly, but Pan didn't really want to leave him just standing there.

"I'm Pan Son," She offered her hand. He shuffled his possessions around in his arms so he could shake it.

"Oh, I see! You're Trunks' secretary!" He had the happiest expression. "Nice to meet you." He pushed his glasses further up on his nose.

"You know him?"

"Of course. That's who I'm waiting for." He looked around expectantly, then beamed as Trunks appeared through a doorway. "My name is—"

"Goten!" Trunks jogged up to him, his hand racing to loosen his tie after the meeting he had just escaped from. They greeted each other with a brisk hug, and then Trunks turned to Pan with a broad grin. "This is my best friend, Goten Son—no relation, I'm supposing?" She could only shake her head. She had pictured Trunks' friend so…differently. "He'll be here for the weekend. I'm so glad you made it!"

"How could I miss an event this big?" Goten scoffed. He pushed his glasses higher on his nose again. "I'm so excited—" Trunks silenced him with a finger to his lips. He darted his eyes obviously to Pan. "Oh, oh, right. Um, yeah." He tucked his hand behind his head and smiled nervously.

"We better get going—lots to do, you know." Trunks gave Pan an apologetic look. "We'll see you later, kay?"

* * *

"I can't believe this," fumed Pan to Mary, "he's making the biggest mistake of his life. I just can't believe it."

"Are you sure he's getting engaged to her?" Mary asked. Pan glared in return. "It's just, no one's _said_ anything, have they?" she pleaded under Pan's heated stare.

"Oh, there've been words, all right. No one's said, 'Trunks is proposing to Marron', but any idiot can figure out that the other things they've said mean that. Random friends showing up? Secret secret, hush hush. Trunks going on about a special event? Come on, I'm not the village idiot." She glanced at Mary, then flushed. "What?"

"Well, Pan, why does it matter to you so much?" Pan flushed even more.

"I—I…it doesn't!"

"Good then." Mary leaned back in the chair. "Because I'd hate to see you fall for a guy who buys condoms in bulk."

"Oh gosh," Pan snorted, "Trunks isn't that bad, Mary." Mary's smile broadened.

"You said that, not me. A couple months ago. Funny how your story's changed."

* * *

Pan tapped her fingers on the table. She glanced at her watch. She had the waitress get her another glass of water. Trunks and his friend Goten were twenty minutes late. Though she had nothing else she had to do, she felt she was wasting her time. She didn't want to spend her evening with them anyway.

When they finally appeared they jogged in merrily, joking with each other over something. The people in the restaurant all turned to watch Trunks pass. Pan had experienced this countless times before. It'd take a while, but eventually they'd lose interest and go back to socializing with their companions. They both scooted their chairs in and greeted Pan. The waiter approached with menus.

"What have you both been doing?" Pan asked conversationally. She took the menu the waiter offered her.

"We went to see Marron's art show. One of the galleries are showing her work and Goten hadn't seen it yet." Goten confirmed this with an eager nod. "I'm not an art freak but I thought it was pretty nice."

"It sort of embodied a sense of Artillian and Essence work." Goten concluded. Neither Trunks nor Pan had any idea of what he was talking about. They simply nodded agreeably. "Um," he continued, "you live close by, don't you?" he asked Pan.

"Well, just about four blocks away. Not quite agreeable walking distance but nearly—I managed to walk it coming here." Trunks' eyes widened.

"You should have gotten a taxi, or we could have picked you up."

"No bother, it's nice out." She flipped through her menu, onyx eyes scanning the columns.

They ordered and chatted while they waited for their food. Pan and Goten shared some humorous tales of Trunks and he promptly attempted to change the topic.

"I don't mind taking some heat but only if the fight's fair—you two are ganging up on me." But he chuckled nonetheless.

"All right, fine. Fine." Goten raised his hands in submission. "Pan and I can continue this later without you." Pan grinned, reached for her glass of red wine. "If you'd excuse me," he stood, "I'm off to the restroom for a moment."

"Not at all—it's that way." Pan gestured out a door, then took a sip of wine.

A moment after he left Trunks asked, "Are you all right?" She looked at him strangely. "You look awfully pale, Pan. Are you feeling off at all?" She bit her lip, nodded as she set her glass down.

"A little bit. But I'm OK. Just a little bit of a cold." He raised his brows and looked her over carefully. "Just one of those little ones. Not enough to even take medicine." He didn't look convinced, but didn't say anything. "Come on, I'm fine—relax. I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself." She took another big sip of wine absentmindedly.

"You're drinking a lot," he commented.

"Not too much," she countered.

"Enough." He was a bit irritated by being taken so lightly, but Goten was approaching and he decided against an argument.

"Hey, I just got a call from Marron on my cell," Goten sat down and slid his chair up to the table, "she wanted to know if, after dinner, we'd like to meet up with her at a club?"

"I don't think Pan's feeling—" Trunks began.

"Sounds great." She interrupted. Trunks was the only one to notice her words were a bit slurred.

* * *

The beat of the club pounded through their veins like a pulse. The thrum and clash of loud music was the soundtrack as Goten and Pan slipped unnoticed into the hall. Trunks, knowing he would attract attention, had ushered them in before he was noticed and had only asked that they find a nice place to sit and wait for Marron. He opted to fight the battle of the paparazzi alone.

Goten and Pan found a cozy booth near the bar. The pleather seats were still warm from their previous inhabitants, and a half-drunken cocktail was setting on the table. Goten snatched it up and sat it on the table next to them that was already littered with drinks.

"Nice place," he commented after a moment.

"Trunks knows the best clubs in town," she explained in response. The strobelights were dazzling her eyes, she felt a bit dizzy, and she had to look away.

"He frequents them, I assume?" She nodded. Goten sighed. "You know, a lot has changed." He reminisced, and his words caught her attention. "He wasn't always like this. I mean, he was always confident and sure of himself—got that from his dad—and he got a lot of spunk from his mother. But this Trunks, the one today, only surfaced when he took over the company. He had had famous girlfriends and had thrown parties here and there, hung out downtown—but never like this. This only happened when he took over the company." Pan tried to disguise her surprise. "Can I get you something to drink?" Goten then offered hurriedly, like he had divulged too much.

"A margarita would be nice. I'm suddenly in the mood for one." Her eyes were still studying Goten's face, looking at him thoughtfully.

"Margarita it is. What kind?"

"A mega," she sighed. She thought she saw him hide a grin before he left her for the bar. She waited for him to come back, her eyes on the crowd. And now Trunks was there, slipping between dancers and then standing before her.

"Escaped the cameras at last?" she smiled. "But you've gotten the technique down by now. Goten went to get drinks." He looked alarmed.

"You don't need anything else to drink—"

"Psh, tosh." She flapped her hand. "You worry too much—lighten up. Dude." She laughed. A little too loudly. Trunks gave her a look that told her his point was proven but she only flapped her hand again. "I want a margarita and I'm going to have a margarita. Just a small one." In perfect timing, Goten came back and handed Pan her mega margarita, but she only sipped at it.

"She's drunk," Trunks pointed out to Goten.

"Just a little tipsy." Goten sipped quickly at his own drink to hide his laughter.

"And what are you drinking?" he asked, eyeing the bubbling liquid in Goten's tall glass.

"Lemon-lime soda." He answered flatly. "Have I ever been the drinking type?"

"I dunno," Trunks shrugged, "at that wedding that one time…"

"Every fourteen year old is curious." But Trunks was watching Pan. She was completely entertained by the salt on her glass rim. Goten's cell phone started ringing and he jumbled through his pockets to answer it. "Helll-lo? Yes? Yeah? OK—yeah. Yes. No, perfect. No, really. See you soon." He turned to Trunks. "Marron's running a bit late, but she _is_ coming."

Trunks leaned forward on the table. "As long as Pan doesn't drink anymore." In one big gulp Pan downed the remaining half of her margarita.

"Whoa, she's amazing. I think you could make money off of that." Goten's eyes grew huge as he watched her. Trunks groaned.

* * *

Half an hour later the booze was definitely kicking in. Pan had danced with several strangers, told the bartender various jokes lacking humor, and kicked her shoes off under the table. But now she was sitting at the table, looking a little forlorn, her face flushed and the apples of her cheeks blushing. Her thick hair was a bit more limp than usual, and fell in loose waves around her face and about her shoulders. The clasp that had held her mane up before was somewhere on the dance floor, cast off during a Latin number.

"Pan, are you all right?" Trunks leaned over the table and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, then slid his fingers behind her neck. "You're feverish and I can see you're trembling—we've got to get you home."

"No," she said adamantly, "I have to stay. I want to have a good time." In her state she was transported into a childish innocence. Trunks' lips pressed into a thin line and he shook his head.

"Pan, no, we've got to get you home. This isn't a good time." His words weren't convincing, though, and she slid out of the booth and attempted to look lively. Her attempt didn't work, however, and she tottered for a minute before catching her balance against the table. "That's enough," Trunks stood up. "Goten, I'll take her home and be back, all right? Wait for Marron—"

"No!" she pleaded again. "I want to stay! I want to have a good time with you all!" Her eyes looked into Trunks and she bit her lip hopefully. "You're all going to come back here and dance and drink and talk—I want to too."

He deliberated for a moment, cast his eyes down, and then looked at her again. Finally he said, "Please, Panny, let me take you home." She looked down in defeat, then nodded slowly. "Goten," he turned to his dark friend, "I'll be back—call me if you need anything." They walked towards the door of the club and then began up the stairs.

"Pan," he began quietly, "I'm sorry—but you really need to be home in bed."

"It's all right," she said, "I…" She stumbled on the steps, caught herself. "I…I understand…" She turned to him, her brows furrowed. And then she fainted.

* * *

Pan awoke to the city lights flashing past the glass window of the car and the radio playing quietly in the background. She smelled a subtle hint of men's cologne, felt warm arms around her. The car turned a corner, she sighed, and he ran a slow hand through her hair.

"You awake?" he asked quietly, "We're almost home." She didn't answer and soon fell asleep again as the car rocked her; her body perfectly comfortable nestled in his arms.

She awoke again when the elevator gave a soft, familiar _ding!_ He was carrying her, the doors slid open, and he began down the hall to her apartment door. "We're home," he announced, managing to unlock the door and slide through it still carrying her. He kicked the door shut behind him and crossed the room and began down her slim hallway to her bedroom. "How are you feeling?"

"All right,"

"You don't have a high fever," he explained matter-of-factly, lying her down on her bed, "I just think the alcohol was too much for you tonight." He sat down next to her legs and watched her carefully. "Can I get you anything?" he asked.

"No, thank you. Are you going back to the club now?"

"Not if you don't want me to." He said simply. "Do you want me to stay?"

"But—they're waiting for you." She insisted groggily.

"They'll be fine without me," he smiled, "do you want me to stay? Either way, I'm getting you some medicine." He disappeared into the bathroom in search for some. "Maybe I should," he called, "you still don't look well, Pan." She rolled over on her side and closed her eyes. She didn't feel up to talking.

Trunks continued to rummage through cabinets until he found a bottle of thick red liquid with a measuring cup atop the cap. "Take this," he kneeled next to the bed, poured the dose into the plastic cup, "I promise it'll make you feel better." She scooted to the edge of the bed and manage to gulp it down. "I'll be right back, and I'll bring you some water." He slipped out of the bedroom and down the hall. He grasped her cordless phone from its base and dialed Goten's number. He rested it on his shoulder as he rinsed out the measuring cup at the kitchen sink.

"Goten? I think I'm going to stay here a bit—she's not doing that well. I'll give you a call tomorrow." He waited for Goten's response and then, "Bye." He shook out the clean cup and sat it on the dishrack to dry. He looked around her apartment. It was disconcertingly clean; the television remotes in a row on the coffeetable, the throw blanket just so on the side of the couch. Her coats were all neat on the hanger by the door, the coffeemaker spotless on the countertop. He smiled to himself and went back into her bedroom.

She was fast asleep on top of the blanket, curled on her side, her hair spilt on the white pillow. "Panny?" He touched her shoulder softly. She didn't even twitch in response. He gently slid the comforter out from under her, pulled it up to her shoulders and adjusted her head in the pillow. Notoriously a deep sleeper, Pan didn't make a sound. She didn't budge either when he kicked off his shoes and crawled onto the bed next to her. She only sighed when he wrapped his arm around her waist and rested his forehead in the crook of her shoulder and neck.

Soon after he fell asleep as well.


	8. No Excuses Now

**Important**: Before reading this chapter, go back to the previous one, "Enter The Nerd," and read the final scene that I just added to it. So yes, go back, read that final scene I added, then come back and read this chapter. Please and thank you. For further information about this please go to my blog and read the latest entry. The link is on my profile page.

On another note, i'm happy to present a new chapter much sooner than usual. haha. Hope you all like it. Also, my friend's been bugging me to set up a forum using that new feature here on FFnet. Does anyone think they'd stop by to discuss anything with me or any other readers of mine? Just wondering if it's worth my time to have a forum for my works and myself.

Enjoy the chapter.

* * *

No one was surprised when Trunks came into Capsule Corporations with messy hair and thoroughly wrinkled pants, jacket and shirt. For Trunks, it was quite common. The only thing they were surprised at was that he didn't have lipstick somewhere present on his being. And so he slipped by the front desk, onto the elevator, and down the hall to his office. He was surprised, however, when he opened his office door to find Goten clicking away on his computer. 

"What?"

"Sorry," Trunks' best friend didn't look up from the monitor, "wanted to check my email. What are you doing here so early?" As Trunks approached he looked up, and then his eyes widened. "You look awful, what have you been…wait!" He stood abruptly, and Trunks jumped. "Did you sleep with her?"

"Yes—no—wait, it wasn't like that." He shook his head violently, retrieved a cup from the cupboard in kitchenette of his office. He began brewing coffee. "It was—that is, it's not what you think." He explained hurriedly. Goten watched him in horror.

"You didn't!" He exclaimed. "You—you…you're a cheater! A cheat! A rogue!" He crossed the room angrily towards Trunks. "You slept with another woman." His jaw dropped. "You cheated on her with your _secretary_. You're _personal secretary_." He collapsed on the couch. "Don't tell me this is happening, and on this weekend of all weekends." He started moaning to himself.

"Now wait just a second," Trunks began angrily, "you don't have all the details. If you'd just wait and let me—" His office door creaked open and Marron crept in.

"Good morning, you two." She greeted.

"You're just in time—you should know who he is!" Goten proclaimed. Her eyes widened at the scene. "He's a cheat, Marron. He slept with his secretary!"

Marron's face grew troubled. "Oh my,"

* * *

Pan woke up to blinding sunlight that pierced through her skull. She groaned and rolled over, pulled the blanket over her head. Finally she motivated herself to get up, and she staggered into the bathroom. She looked in the mirror, saw the smudge of mascara and makeup around her eyes, how her outfit was wrinkled and sagging in odd places. She rinsed off her face, brushed her teeth, and slipped into pajamas. 

Stumbling into the kitchen she found muffins and bagels on the kitchen counter, and in the semi-barren fridge an unopened carton of orange juice and some cream cheese. A note from Trunks was tacked onto the fridge, demanding she eat, rest up, and that if she stepped onto Capsule Corporations property she would be promptly escorted off.

"Trunks was here?" she asked herself. A moment of thought made her recall dinner, dancing, and one too many drinks. Then quickly she remembered riding in a car, being carried to her apartment, and a warm body against her back as she fluttered in and out of sleep. She flushed, took a step back and collapsed on one of the barstools next to the island.

"He couldn't possibly," she muttered apprehensively. But all too clearly she recalled lavender hair spilling across her neck, his arm around her waist, that comforting warmth of his body she had been cradled in. "He must have been drunk too," she concluded logically with a sharp nod. She began fixing a bagel. "Or really tired, or delusional—he's getting engaged this weekend; there has to be some sort of explanation." And she tried her hardest to convince herself of that.

* * *

"Oh my," Marron said. "Goten," she said quickly, "let me explain." 

"There's nothing to explain," he pouted, "my best friend's a cheater. I mean, I've known he's a reckless playboy, but I didn't think he'd actually sleep with—"

"It's Pan!" Marron interrupted in frustration. "Pan, his secretary! He can't cheat on her if it _is_ her!" Both Trunks and Goten looked to her in alarm.

"It's Pan? Pan's the girl?" Goten finally asked. Marron nodded and now she had a smile on her face. "Oh, then I'm sorry, Trunks. We're good again?"

"What's going on?" Trunks demanded. "What on earth is going on?"

"Well," Marron began, "if you don't get mad I'll explain. When Goten came I told him about this wonderful girl that was now in your life and how you felt about her. I hadn't mentioned her name yet, and I guess it would be an odd reality that she was your personal secretary. I mean, I wouldn't have guessed that if I were Goten."

"You're joking," was all Trunks said.

"We're all good friends, I had to share the news! And now that you've got her…" She shrugged meaningfully.

"But I don't," Trunks insisted, "she thinks I'm a jerk—she can't stand me. There's no way she's interested." He gave them both an adamant stare.

"I thought you slept with her last night?" Marron questioned, eyes darting between Trunks and Goten.

"Well, sort of."

* * *

"I'm coming—sorry!" 

"That's fine. Take your time." Mary sat her purse on the coffee table and slouched on the arm of the couch. She looked around Pan's apartment, then inspected her nails. Pan's footsteps could be heard thudding in the next room, and a few moments later Pan emerged from her bedroom.

"I'm ready." She greeted, pulling the charger cord out of her cell phone and dropping it into her purse.

"This is our day to totally relax! We're going to spend the entire day out, right?" Mary asked.

"You bet," Pan returned with a smile.

* * *

"OK, I understand—you slept with her, but there was no sex involved." She nodded her head. "Got it. But no problem, Goten and I will have the two of you hooked up in no time." But Trunks only shook his head. "What's the deal?" 

"It won't work. And it can't." He sat down at his desk. "I'm the last man in the world Pan would care for. And I don't blame her! I'm a jerk, spoiled, sleep with too many women—I…I don't deserve her." But he wasn't looking at Marron or Goten. His eyes had dropped to the top of his desk. He sighed, leaned forward on his hand. "I can't even picture myself with her. Not the way I am. So it's better if things just move on."

Goten bit his lip, watched his friend across the room. But Marron suddenly slapped her hand on the desk. Trunks jumped, looked straight into her eyes.

"Give me a break," she nearly growled. "Give me a break!" She tossed her hair, let out a frustrated sigh. "Don't go all noble on me now. Don't play the hopeless hero. She's out there!" She waved her arm forcedly towards the window. "She's the greatest woman and the world—all you have to do is run out there and snatch her! Go out there, grab her, fling her over your shoulder and don't let her get away from you!"

"It's not that simple!" Trunks yelled right back, standing up and leaning across the desk to her.

"It's not that complicated." She growled.

"You don't understand," he said quietly.

"I guess I don't." She grabbed her coat, irritated, then nodded to Goten. "I guess we'll get out of here for now." They both moved to the door. "But Trunks," she turned to him, "just promise me you aren't hiding behind this. That you're just not scared she'll reject you." He didn't say a word in return. She sighed and left. The door closed behind her.

* * *

That afternoon while Mary and Pan were traipsing around the city, shopping in stores that tourists never darkened the door of, eating from street vendors, sipping coffee at a hole-in-the-wall café in a street filled with retro photographers and bohemian twenty-somethings, Trunks was sitting at a large round table on a floor hundreds of feet above ground, biting his lip and not paying attention to the business man from China the meeting had been especially arranged on a Saturday for. While Pan felt the breeze through her thick dark hair as they walked down streets filled with diverse mixes of people, Trunks was lost in thoughts that didn't concern fair trade and imports. While Pan played with a passing dog for a moment while she and Mary sat in the park, shooting the breeze, Trunks was massive city blocks away, thinking only of her; her smile, that look in her eye—a small sparkle when she rebuked him yet was still amused. He felt a clench in his stomach, a tightness in his chest. He had to take a deep breath, calm that sudden wave of emotion that had broken loose within him, and pretend that he truly was in charge of this meeting. 

His mother, however, sitting across from him, noticed, and there was concern in her eyes.

* * *

After the meeting Bulma followed him to his office and shut the door quietly behind her. He went to the small kitchenette off in a corner, poured himself some cold water, and let out a deep, haggard sigh. 

"What's wrong?" He tensed in surprise, not knowing she was there. "What's wrong, Trunks?" she asked, approaching him slowly. He reached across his chest, rubbed his opposite shoulder hard and slowly.

"I don't know," he said after a while, sliding down to a crouch. "This—this shouldn't bother me." He bit his lip, clenched his eyes hut against the surprising surge of heat behind his lids, the moisture that threatened to spill. He wouldn't cry like a child, especially when he didn't fully understand what was gripping him so.

"Trunks," She knelt behind him, touched his shoulder softly.

"I just…" His muscles tensed, every one fighting against this breakdown that was coursing through him. If he maintained control it would pass. "I just need to get away today," he gasped. Bulma withdrew her hand, gave a solemn nod to herself.

"Go, Trunks. Just go away for a bit." She left without another word.

She stopped at the desk of his secretary and said, "Cancel everything for him today. Be prepared to cancel everything in his schedule tomorrow, as well." After a moment she added, "I don't know what's wrong, but he needs some time." The secretary nodded quickly, Bulma set off down the hall.

_I will never completely understand him_, she thought. _He is too much like his father, and also too much like me. I can't help him now, either. No hard sense, no logical speeches, will cure whatever ails him in his heart. He has to fix it himself. I have to let him.

* * *

_

"Let's go here for dinner!" Pan had looked the place that Mary had pointed at up and down. She had first quibbled that it was too expensive, but Mary had snatched her arm and dragged her into it anyway. Now they were sitting enjoying their meal, and though Pan would never admit it, she was glad they had come.

"That's why I don't work in that field," Pan pointed out, and they both laughed. Mary picked up her drink, shook it slowly in a circle. The water twirled and the ice clinked against the glass. "Onions," Pan said suddenly. Mary looked at her strangely. "Onions," Pan repeated, gesturing to her salad with her fork. But then Pan looked up, her expression as if she had just realized something. "Sorry," she explained, "Trunks eats my onions. I don't like them." She seemed to laugh it off, but her mood turned more somber afterwards.

* * *

Trunks had been walking for a long time. The sun had set an hour ago. Just a few minutes after his mother had left his office he had grabbed his jacket and left the building. He didn't call for his driver, or a taxi. He had just started walking. He had been walking until moments ago, an hour after the sunset, and now he was in a deserted corner of the park. He had stopped because his cell phone had rung. Now he flipped it open, put it next to his ear. 

"Yes?"

"Trunks? Where are you?" Goten's voice was cheerful on the other end. "Hey, I'm sorry if we all left on bad terms earlier—but that's not what I called for. I wanted to thank you."

"The park. Thank me?" Trunks approached a nearby bench and slouched on it.

"Without you, this weekend never would have happened. At least not as great as it did. I did it—we're engaged." Trunks was silent as his friend continued. "She's always been the girl of my dreams and now she's nearly mine—thank you, Trunks, for helping me with it all."

"It's nothing." Trunks offered simply. In honesty, he wasn't paying much attention.

"Of course it is! Marron and I are getting married now, and we owe it all to you—you did this for us. You know I'll always be grateful." Trunks didn't say anything, and Goten continued, "Well, we're heading to dinner now. Thanks again, Trunks. I'll catch you tomorrow." Trunks said a simple goodbye and hung up.

He leaned forward on his knees, slid his fingernail into the crevices of his cell phone distractedly, and watched the dark park begin to glitter as the stars in the night sky appeared.

* * *

The mood had been stifling all through dinner. The waiter now came to give them their dessert, and Mary broke the silence sharply. "Go to him," she ordered boldly, and Pan looked at her, confused. "Go to Trunks, Pan." Mary's aura was rigid as she twirled her fork and began to eat her cheesecake ferociously. "I'm sick of all this nonsense. Go to him." 

"You're kidding me," Pan snorted.

"Do I look like it to you?" Indeed Pan hadn't seen Mary this serious since her long-time boyfriend had dumped her for a man.

"This is ridiculous," Pan said, raising her hands and shaking her head.

"You're being ridiculous!" Mary, finished with her cheesecake, slapped her fork down on the table. It made a loud sound, and then there was silence.

Finally Pan said, desperately, "He's getting engaged. Tonight, Mary." She looked down, then back at her friend. "There's nothing I can possibly do." Mary bit her lip and nodded, and then she gave a sad, acknowledging smile of comfort.

"I'm sorry. You're right."

"Just this way, Mr. Son!" The headwaiter was rushing through the tables and passed by Pan and Mary. He snatched a young waiter and hissed in his ear, "This is the table reserved by Mr. Briefs himself for his best friend! Champagne—champagne!" The younger man nodded and scurried away hurriedly. "Just this way, Mr. Son!" The older one said again. And then Pan looked towards the door and Goten was there. But more importantly _Marron_ was there. She flushed, and Mary watched her in concern.

"It's her," Pan gasped, and pointed discreetly. "That's the hippie." She explained through clenched teeth. Mary took in a sharp breath.

"Trunks' fiancée?" Mary asked, and Pan gave the slightest of nods.

Goten and Marron were coming closer—Pan and Mary's table was right in their path. Pan forced her breathing to steady, and then they were there, smiling at she and Mary, pleasantly surprised to see them.

"Pan, great to see you!" Marron greeted. Pan noticed her arm was linked in Goten's. "And your friend is?" Pan couldn't speak. She, the woman strong enough to keep Trunks in line, couldn't utter a word. But Mary was quickly there to cover for her. She offered her hand and introduced herself.

"What brings you here?" Mary then asked, and the two of them beamed.

"Actually," Goten began, "we just got engaged and are going to have dinner—"

"_What?_" Pan's eyes were as wide as a scared rabbit. Goten seemed not to notice.

"Yes, we're engaged! Thanks to Trunks we were able to both meet up this weekend and—"

"_Trunks set it up for you?_" Again, Goten didn't seem to notice her shock, and continued the explanation happily. Mary watched the exchange with great interest. The newly engaged couple smiled and continued on about their wonderful night. Pan's ears were ringing.

"Well," Marron said sweetly, "I think we better get to our table. It was so good to see you." And they both left, neither noticing that Pan hadn't said goodbye.

"You don't have an excuse now," was all Mary said. It was all she needed to say.


End file.
